


A Plan, Like Fruit, Takes Time To Ripen

by BrassOctopi



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Norse Mythology, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, based partially off Marvel, based partially off mythology, not that there's a lot of Sigyn in either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrassOctopi/pseuds/BrassOctopi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All her life, Sigyn's had things decided for her. She figures it's time she made some decisions for herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Plan, Like Fruit, Takes Time To Ripen

**Author's Note:**

> Because Asgardian lifespans are longer, I’ve used Aesir ages in here. For reference, 367 is about 6 for humans, 785 is 13, and 821 is 13.5. These are all based off math from a tumblr post, which I realize can be sketchy, but references numbers mentioned in canon (such as when Loki was born and how long he mentions Aesir lifespans being).

From her birth, Sigyn was told about the gracious Allfather and his family. They could do no wrong in her noble parents’ eyes, especially the golden prince. He promised to carry on his father’s legacy, they agreed, while the second son… well, he was still a crown prince, they supposed.

Sigyn caught her first glimpse of them when she was three hundred and sixty-seven years old. Her parents decided it would be fitting for her to be with them at the court feasts, though for an Asgardian, she was still very young. The boys sat on the dais with their parents, Thor to his father’s left hand and Loki to his mother’s right. The golden haired son chattered happily, while the darker son curled in his chair, emerald eyes observing everything.

Immediately, Sigyn was struck by the younger son. She spent the rest of the evening watching him in abject fascination, only turning away to converse with her parents’ friends as politely as she could. Ladies teased her mother that the child had a crush, which her mother denied – her Sigyn was more grounded than that, and she was much too young! And yet…

 

As years passed, Sigyn’s adoration never waned, though she tamped it down, certain that she was too low to ever be considered even a conquest for flirtation, let alone anything more. She turned to studies, to archery, to horseback riding. She learned the sword, as any good woman of Asgard did, and how to use a dagger in both cooking and defense. Life moved on, even if her heart did not.

She was seven hundred and eight-five when her parents informed her of her engagement. The mention of an engagement sent a lightning bolt down her spine, as she fervently prayed that it would be to a nice man, a smart man – _a man like the younger prince_ , her mind told her snarkily, but she banished the thought. But then they told her the name, and the lightning in her veins was replaced by frost.

Theoric was not a _bad_ man, she supposed, but he was a warrior. And not just a warrior, like any good nobleman of Asgard, but one who relished the battle, who boasted every scar he had. She doubted he had read a book the whole way through in the last hundred years, and she couldn’t help but think he would be a bore to talk to. In despair, she fled to the stables, where cruel fate awaited her again.

She pressed against her horse, a sturdy mare who had carried her for many years in the forests surrounding the city, trying to calm her thoughts. After a few long moments, she heard voices, and moved deeper into the stall, not wanting to be seen so troubled. It took her minutes to place the youthful voices she heard – the golden prince and his friends, laughing and joking, and teasing… of course. Sigyn threw her scarf over her flaming hair before peeking over the edge of the stall, watching them. The brothers had grown significantly, Thor becoming broad and strong, while Loki became lithe and lean. He was clearly exasperated by the warrior’s jokes, but continued to smile, light-hearted, and the lady could feel herself falling in love all over again. She almost let herself get caught in her reverie, until she heard the dark prince talk.

“Next time, I’ll come by myself – then perhaps I can actually ride without you all weighing me down.” There was a round of raucous laughter, and the prince looked pleased with himself. Sigyn’s eyes grew wide, and she dropped back into her stall, waiting until they had passed before dashing back to her quarters, out of breath.

 

It was a simple thing to get gossip from the servants. They loved to talk with her, especially when she offered to help with their chores. They had learned many years ago that she would not tell any of their employers, and would instead help out wherever she could, as she found a life of having people do things for her tedious and dull. She was talking with one woman as they sewed tunics, the servant doing the larger tears and Sigyn fixing the embroidery.

“I was cleaning the fireplace in the great hall,” the servant confided, glancing up at the noble girl, “when I overheard the Allfather talking. It seems as though his younger son is in the market for a wife, my lady.”

Sigyn’s hand slipped, driving the needle into her skin. She quickly stuck it in her pincushion, popping the afflicted finger into her mouth and sucking at it. “Is he, then? And does he have candidates?”

“Nei, my lady. He seems to be incredibly picky, when it comes to his women. She must be a scholar, not a warrior, but not helpless. Fire in her, he says.” The serving woman’s eyes danced, and there was no way she missed the blush in Sigyn’s cheeks.

“You forget that I am betrothed, Halldora,” she scolded, and the woman laughed.

“Betrothals are broken, dear lady,” Halldora teased, looking back to her stitching.

“Ja, they are,” Sigyn agreed, frowning. “But my parents have no intention.”

“Then you have to make your own ‘intention’, don’t you, my lady?”

Sigyn smiled.

 

It was another several weeks before she could set her plan in motion. The faithful Halldora had a friend in the stables, who ran as fast as his feet could carry him when he learned Loki Odinson was going out riding alone. Halldora carried the news to Sigyn, who fell into a frenzy, dressing in her finest outfit, one that clung to curves that were not there decades before. With a kiss to the servant’s cheek, she headed to the stables, under the guise of feeding medicine and apples to her sick horse.

She entered the stables at the same time as the prince, eyes locking with his for a long moment. Demurely, she lowered hers first, then cast them back up quickly before heading into the stall. She heard him pause, then stable his horse, murmuring something to the young hostler, whom one might have thought had never moved from his spot on a haybale since Loki started his ride. Sigyn rested her hand on her mare’s nose, heart beating fast. If she could not charm him, she likely wouldn’t have another chance. The wedding to Theoric was fast approaching. Luckily, she knew the prince, knew how little he liked to lose what he considered his prize.

“A fine horse you have there.” She nearly jumped, having not heard him move behind her. Sigyn turned, giving him a smile. He stood outside the stall, watching her with interest. “Although you are not dressed for riding, Einasdottir.”

“You know my name.” Sigyn tilted her head, watching his face the same way he watched her. “I did not realize… no, I am not, my lord. My horse is ill, and I merely wished to tend to her.”

“A caring heart.” He nodded once, expression unreadable. “Most noblewomen give that task to their hostlers, unless they are a warrior woman like the Lady Sif.”

“I am no warrior, my lord, merely one who recognizes the worth and beauty of the beasts that bear us.” She stroked the horse’s neck, hoping to hide the tremble in her hands. “Somehow, I would think you understand.”

Loki smiled, and her heart seemed to sing. “That is true. Tell me, Lady Sigyn Einasdottir, would you like to go riding? Another time, of course, when you are not in fine silks.”

The young woman let her gaze fall, staring at the floor. “I would love to, my lord, but it would not be right. I am engaged.”

There was a long moment of silence, heavy and stifling. “To whom, my lady?”

“The warrior, Theoric. When he returns from a mission for the Allfather in a little over a month’s time, we are to be wed. It shall be quite the occasion.”

“I understand.” Sigyn hazarded a glance upward. The prince had gained a hungry look in his eye, one that she would later come to know quite well. Suddenly he gave her a slight bow. “Good day to you, Lady Einasdottir.” She curtsied, somewhat mystified.

“Good day to you, my lord prince.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the stables, leaving the young noblewoman wondering how well her plan had worked.

 

Days passed, and then weeks. The girl saw no more of her beloved prince, nor of her promised man. She was not to see Theoric until the very day of her wedding, which she met with poorly disguised gloom.

“Theoric is such a kind man,” Freya promised, patting her daughter’s hand. The girl pulled away.

“I am in my eight hundreds. He is over eleven hundred! Mother, he is old, and he is a warrior. I do not want this.”

Freya frowned, standing. “Unfortunately, you have no choice. Your marriage is arranged just as mine was. Be grateful he can provide for you, daughter! You will be well satisfied for all of your days.”

“I will not be either!” Sigyn snapped, staring at her reflection in the mirror. In the glass she watched her mother sigh and leave before she put her head in her hands and cried.

 

It was with heavy heart that she entered the grove where she was to be married. With a deep breath, she offered a sword to him, removing her hands from it as quickly as she could to avoid brushing his skin with her own. As he handed her his family sword, though, she stopped, catching a glimpse of mischief in his hazel eyes. She took the sword with a confused frown, thin fingers wrapping around the sheath.

They exchanged rings, then vows. If Sigyn was honest, she could not remember most of it, distracted as she was by Theoric’s odd behavior. He carried himself differently than she remembered – less of the warrior’s swagger, yet still confident. She watched him carefully, schooling her face into a neutral mask. The ceremony reached its end, and Theoric pulled her close, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

Midway through, she heard gasps of shock and anger. She pulled back, brows furrowing, and let out a gasp of her own, hand flying to cover her mouth. Smiling at her was no longer Theoric but the prince, eyes full of merriment and slyness. Before she could do anything else, pandemonium erupted. Her parents shouting that the Allfather tricked them, the Allfather roaring for his son to explain, various guests throwing in their opinions. Sigyn clasped hands with Loki, heart leaping into her throat.

“Stop, stop, I beg you,” she pleaded, turning to the Allfather. Her voice rang out over the cacophony, and as quickly as it started, the gathered people fell silent. Sigyn gave the king a curtsy, keeping her eyes on the ground. “Please, Allfather, permit me.”

“What is there to say?” growled Odin, good eye on his son. “The marriage will be annulled, and your rightful husband will be found.”

“Allfather, please, allow me an argument,” Sigyn tried again, and he turned to her in surprise. When he stayed silent, she took a deep breath. “I am legally bound to your son as his wife, Allfather. I am honorbound to serve him, to be by his side. I made my vows, as he made his. To annul this marriage would be to call mockery on our traditions, and you are not one to do such. Please, if you will have me as daughter-in-law, I should like to stay Loki Odinson’s wife.”

Shocked silence fell over the glade. Sigyn would later swear that everyone gathered there could hear her heart beating against her ribs, staccato and hard. After what seemed like an eternity, Odin sighed.

“If you feel so strongly, I suppose I must allow it. To deny a bride on her wedding day… No, I would not do it.”

Sigyn beamed. Years of hoping, pining, waiting had finally come to fruit. Her new life could now begin, full of promise.


End file.
